A Plague of Angels
by infie
Summary: An illness is killing the angels, but first it drives them insane.


A/N: Written for the dark_fest challenge at LiveJournal.

Dean stared numbly at the rutted, stained ceiling, lost in something like grief. His hands flexed, pulling awkwardly against the bonds holding him pinned, arms and legs outstretched like the Vitruvian Man. They moved as if by their own volition, twisting and turning, testing the strength of the leather wrapping holding him in place. "You don't need to do this."

"But I do, Dean. I do." Castiel stalked back and forth above his head, pacing with an energy approaching manic. "You are the key." He paused to look at Dean, thrusting his face upside-down into his line of sight.

Dean closed his eyes so that he wouldn't have to see the fanatic intensity in Castiel's eyes.

It had been three months since the plague had begun to take the angels. It was frightening enough that a race which had never known sickness in any form had suddenly begun to get ill. The infection was demon-forged in Hell, and it was killing them all. More terrifying still was the other part of the sickness.

First, it drove them insane.

The only good news in the whole thing was that, while the infection left their super-strength and overall toughnes, it at least messed with the angels' mojo, preventing them from simply iwishing/i the human race into extinction. Castiel had done everything he could to search for something to slow the illness, to find a medication or treatment, to find a cure.

He'd failed. And now, he'd succumbed.

"All I need, Dean, is for you to worship me," Castiel said fervently, mouth right beside Dean's ear. "I need for you to believe in me, pray for me." He paused. "Pray _to_ me."

"You're sick," Dean said, stolidly refusing to open his eyes despite the hot puffs of air against his neck. "You're sick with the same thing that's killing the others."

"It's the cure, Dean, I know it." Castiel returned to pacing, circling him this time. "If you just give in, do my bidding in this, I will be cured." The steps stopped, and Dean opened his eyes. He sounded so reasonable... If it weren't for the deep red tracks of bloody tears streaming from Castiel's eyes and ears, he might have believed him.

"You need to let me go," Dean said instead of all the things caught in his throat. Things like _I need you to be ok_ and _I've lost too many friends already_ and _God, Castiel, not you_ and maybe worst of all, _Please, please, please_.

"Not until you yield." Castiel squared his shoulders. "Let's start with something simple. Say my name."

"No." Dean swallowed hard. He couldn't give in, not on even the least thing. If he did, as soon as Castiel realised that it wasn't working, Castiel would kill him. The pieces in the corner where Castiel had literally torn Balthazar apart were a potent reminder. He needed to buy time for Sam and Bobby to find them.

"_Dean_." Castiel blinked, and for an instant Dean saw sanity in his eyes. "Please, Dean. You don't understand. I've never... I've always wanted you safe."

Dean smiled despite the situation. "Not doing a great job of that."

"But now... Now I don't care about that. Do you hear me, Dean?" The clarity was leaking out of Castiel's face, leaving it blank. Another blink and the monster was back in residence. "I don't care about any of that. Right now, I want you calling for me." A shudder ran through Castiel's body and his voice broke, his eyes closing in despair. Dean couldn't tell whether it was the real Cas or the insane one who finished the thought, "_I want to hurt you just to hear you screaming my name._"

Dean's heart lurched in his chest; his stomach twisted in rage and fear. "You listen to me," he said, dark and dangerous. "When I get loose, I am going to find the soul-sucking spineless shit-eating demonic son of a bitch who did this to you and I am going to tear him into constituent fucking parts. If you let me go now, you can help. You can make _him_ scream your name all day and night if you want. And if, after you're better, you want me to pray to you a little, well, maybe that can be arranged. But for right now, what I see in you is demon-wrought badness, and anything it wants is something I ain't giving it."

For a breath-stopping moment, he thought he'd gotten through. Then Castiel opened his eyes and all he saw there was the crazy.

Castiel stepped slowly up his body until he stood in the space between Dean's bound arm and his side. He lifted his hand with frightening precision and fit it over Dean's shoulder, in the exact place his handprint still resided, seared into Dean's flesh. "Say my name, Dean."

"This," Dean replied brusquely, turning back to the ceiling, "is going to be a long night."

Castiel bared his teeth in something that bore no resemblance to a smile. "Then we better get started."

.end


End file.
